Take my breath away
by Anloquen
Summary: A sequel to 'What you see is what you get', though loosely connected with part 1. The Winchesters will face another bizarre creature, but this time they will have to hunt it down in a... gay-friendly club. Cas is unruffled. Sam is amused. Dean is terrified. Charlie is thrilled. May have a wee bit more feels and a wee bit less humor than part 1 - please let me know if you like it!
1. Chapter 1

The calm in the chill out room was warm and milky. Delicate ribbons of smoke wafted below the ceiling, tinted blue and green by the soft light of diodes embedded in black plaster. Roar of the music filling the adjacent hall permeated the walls and floor with low, murmuring vibration, but it was quiet enough to talk. Some of the men and women that were lounged on black recliners whispered, purred into each others' ears, skimmed greedy hands over the sweaty skin of their lovers. Others just popped in for a while to catch a breath before returning to the dance floor.

Nobody paid attention to a dark-haired man leaning over a skinny college student; even if someone did, he or she would think that breathing weed fumes into someone's mouth was sexy and probably try it with his or her own date.

A few minutes later, when the college student started to flounder around, wheezing and fighting for breath, those who saw it assumed that it was an effect of drug overdose or allergy.

The dark-haired man was nowhere to be found.

xXx

"What happened to him?"

Sam gave Castiel a stern look, demanding answers. All he could think of was that he was having a deja vu. He'd seen the scene before. Dean leaning heavily on Cas's small frame. His head sagging limply. His shoes draggled and half-untied. A dark trail of blood tainting his chin. Castiel's hair tousled, his tie loosened and his shirt mussy.

This time, however, the angel just sighed and proceeded to haul unconscious Dean into the room. Then he unhooked the man's arm from his shoulders and rested Dean on Bobby's battered coach. The angel was much more gentle than the last time he appeared in Singer's house with Dean like that, though less tender than he could be for his friend. Sam sensed that Castiel was mildly angry with the hunter. Luckily, he wasn't beat-the-soul-out-of-him-pissed; more like who-do-I-have-to-deal-with-pissed.

"I warned him not to drink with Europeans," the angel explained crisply as soon as he made sure Dean was safely tucked in. The hunter lay curled up, snoring boisterously and clinging to Cas's hand with an expression of pure delight on his face. The Seraph made few listless efforts to free the arm, but finally he gave up and sat down on the floor next to the coach.

"Europeans? What do you mean?"

Castiel pursed his lips.

"Dean insisted that I take him to Ireland to a real Irish pub, with soccer supporters, Guinness on tap and a live transmission of a soccer league match..." he trailed off, having noticed the Winchester rising his brow in disbelief mixed with reproof.

"I hope you didn't use the s-word in front of these..." Sam mimicked Cas's deep, husky voice "soccer supporters."

"Pardon?" the angel tilted his head, but after an instant, there was a spark of understanding "Oh, yes. I am afraid we did. Apparently they prefer to call this sport football and it is a matter of great importance to them. That's why Dean is..." he run his finger from the corner of his mouth down to his chin "Don't worry," he added, "I healed him. I simply decided there was no point removing the blood while he is still so bedraggled."

"If you healed him, why is he unconscious?" The younger Winchester's amusement was still somewhat beclouded by concern for his brother.

"Because..." The Seraph explained in a magisterial tone, perhaps bristling at Sam's noticeable mistrust. The man couldn't really tell. Recognizing the thin line between a normally austere Castiel and an abnormally austere Castiel required experience that he lacked, "He was unaware that in Europe it is customary to drink alcoholic beverages with ethanol content much higher than here. I find it... pleasurable," he added with a microscopic, smug half-smile, "but Dean's metabolism is not accustomed to 70%, thrice distilled whiskey."

It wasn't until then that Sam realized that the angel was slightly tipsy. He sighed and rolled up his eyes, trying to imagine the amount of alcohol required to affect Castiel. As far as he remembered, it took two fifths of Jim Beam to get him to feel anything and a whole liquor store to leave him hammered.

"Can't you just un-blast him?" he inquired doubtfully, rising one eyebrow and pointing at his brother with a limp hand.

"I could, but I believe it is reasonable to let him sleep. It's evening here, but in Dublin it was 4 AM."

Sam yawned. Perhaps Cas was right. Moreover, they certainly did deserve a couple of days off after the confrontation with Lady Midday that had nearly killed all three of them. Still, from the moment the hunter caught the track of a case, there was this itch that needed to be scratched.

"The thing is that there may be a case. I'm quite sure it's something for us. I'd really like Dean to take a look."

Castiel gingerly worked his arm out of Dean's vice-like grip. It was greeted with a disgruntled murmur, but the man did not wake up.

"May I?" the angel asked with a small gesture toward the laptop. He scanned the notes, ignoring Sam's admonitory look.

"Are you going to... erm... Work with us now? Don't you have some business in Heaven?"

Cas shot him a quizzical glance. Once again, Sam had this zany impression that it was on the alarming side of the angel's perpetual solemnity.

"Don't get me wrong," Sam added hastily, "You're always welcome. What I mean is that, well," the hunter cleared his throat. It didn't help. Neither did scratching the back of his neck. He had no idea where he was heading, "Dean gets this family-thing really serious. And he likes you. The fact that you let him get commode-hugging drunk might be a factor..." he made a wry face when Dean started to murmur something that might have been a football chant he had picked up, but might as well have been anything else; there was no hint of a distinct melody in this groan, although Dean seemed pleased with his rendition of whatever-the-hell-it-was. Having finished _singing_ , he smiled even wider in his sleep and clicked his tongue a few times with contentment.

Castiel bristled:

"He is a grown up man. I can't see why..."

"Chill, really." Sam rose his hands in a calming gesture "It was a friendly poke. I know you wouldn't let him get hurt. All I'm saying that it used to be the two of us, you know. Twenty four - seven. If there are any changes ahead..." he lost the thread halfway the sentence, having realized that he had no right to ask this kind of questions. Luckily, the angel did not mind.

"Not that I know of," he replied a bit quieter than usually, then fixed his look on the laptop screen.


	2. Chapter 2

"Rose? Hughes? Hodo?" Dean tossed the badges into the glove box with an expression of disgust spread on his face, "You think it's funny? You think it's a motherfucking game?"

"I didn't know you'd get it," Sam tried to explain when he'd finally stopped laughing, "I was thinking about Mercury, Morrisey and..."

"Dammit, Sam!" the older Winchester growled. He had to take a few deep, calming breaths before he was able to find the ignition switch and start the engine, "for the last time, this isn't funny!"

"Calm down, man. We're not gonna spend a night there. Just have a chat with the owner and bartenders, nothing after 10 PM."

"Yeah, bartenders..." Dean pushed the pedal to the metal. He figured that the sooner they started, the sooner they would finish. He couldn't wait to get the phase of talking to the witnesses over with and finally face the monster. He didn't care what it would be - a striga, a wraith, or even a witch. Anything was better than having to deal with gay people, nauseatingly sweet cocktails and shitty music.

"They're not gonna eat you," Sam rolled his eyes.

"Let them try..." Dean ground out, deadly serious and fully focused on the road, then continued grouching under his breath, "Blue Oyster. How could they name a gay banghouse like that? That's outrageous. Blue Oyster Cult is a classic, and these suckers...This makes me sick."

"Dean..." the younger Winchester sobered up as well, "This is getting ridiculous. Politically incorrect jokes can be funny, but enough is enough. This is real. We're going to meet real people, not some over-the-top Village People personas. What's there to be afraid of?"

"... Said a dude who shits his pants everytime he sees a clown..." the older retorted sourly.

Sam decided it was the time to hit Dean's underbelly. His big, thick-skulled brother deserved a smack on the head.

"Don't worry. No one's gonna hit on you. You're not that pretty."

There was no possible comeback for that. All Dean could do was to snarl angrily and fumble in the glove compartment for a tape, making sure that he was as loud and rough as possible. Before he slid Iron Maiden's _'Fear of the dark_ ' into the slot, he asked grimly:

"Why did you fake three badges anyway?"

"'Cause there's three of us now, right?" Sam made sure to sound as casual as he could, but Dean psyched out the hidden agenda anyway. He did exactly what Sam had expected: shrugged and gave out an inarticulate murmur instead of an answer.

"Well, isn't Cas gonna catch up?" the younger Winchester switched to simpler questions.

"Dunno. Haven't spoken to him since yesterday."

Sam chuckled nervously.

"Sorry for telling him not to cure your hangover. You needed a lesson. I hadn't expected you'd be so mad about it."

"That's not the p..." Dean blurted, then choked back whatever he originally intended to say and finished woodenly, "Yeah. Hangover sucks. No more drinking with Cas..."

xXx

In contrast to what Dean had expected, the owner looked like a regular club owner: bald, a wee bit too well-groomed, slightly chubby and mightily shifty, but overall he was a normal shady businessman. He looked nothing like a sleazy pimp Dean had been imagining the whole day. He sighed with relief. Now his only concern was Cas trailing around timidly. Dean was on the verge of snapping and telling him to man up and behave like an FBI agent instead of moving like a crab. Like a skittish crab.

Luckily, the club owner seemed to preoccupied with playing his own part.

"Here, gentlemen," he twittered with a fake smile, "It happened here. I assure that our establishment exercises the utmost care to prevent any illegal substance traffic, but you must understand that one cannot detect or prevent every single incident..."

Dean silenced him with a gesture, then entered the chill out room. It still smelled vaguely of cigarettes and pot, though it wasn't stuffy nor fusty. Now that the additional lights were on it looked drab and decrepit, but not disgusting. The vinyl recliners were covered in a fine net of cracks and there were a few discolored spots on the floor, but that was it. Compared to the nightmare of sticky stains the hunter had been ready to face, it was a nice surprise.

The owner managed to stay quiet for not longer than two minutes, then reeled off again, kicking his heels.

"I have already handed over the surveillance footage and the full list of names and addresses of my employees to the police, but if you find it convenient, I can..."

"Yes. That would be nice." Sam cut in on him, seeing muscles of Dean's jaw getting knotted, "Now would you please leave us alone here for a couple of minutes?"

"Of course, of course," the chubby man crawfished out of the room, bowing slightly with every step, "Naturally. Solving the case and preventing future incidents is the matter of utmost importance..."

"Sir!" Sam rushed him, rising his eyebrows. He clearly saw that his brother was on the verge of snapping.

"So, anything unusual?" he addressed the angel in turn. Castiel took a look around, inhaling warily. The fact that he was trying to stay as far from Dean as possible didn't escape Sam's attention.

"The level of carbon monoxide is slightly elevated. Not to a health-threatening level, but it is odd." Cas announced after a while of intent analysis.

"What's this?" Dean spotted something; he brushed past Sam, then circumvented Castiel with a wide curve to finally reach a wall. When the man reached out to touch it, Sam noticed a dark smear on the pewter paint too. It was shaped like someone placed his hand on the wall, then slid it down.

The older Winchester scraped it cautiously. Fine, dark powder covered his finger.

"The hell?" he murmured.

Castiel approached the wall as well. As soon as he got close, Dean sucked in a sharp breath, sidestepped him and backed off.

"Soot." The Seraph assessed.

Sam took a few photos; while trying to get the best lighting he found something else.

"Does this look like fingerprints to you?" he pointed at the lower edge of the spot.

He couldn't help noticing a spark of hostility that flared up between Dean and Castiel for a split second. The angel lost. He stepped aside, letting the hunter come closer.

"Not human," Dean answered, seemingly unfazed by what had happened a moment before, though Sam knew him well enough to sense the tension, "Looks like... Dunno, a gecko?"

The younger hunter made a wry face.

"That's messed up."

In contrast to him, Dean seemed enthusiastic. He clapped his hands and ordained merrily:

"All right. We go talk to the witnesses, Cas goes talk to Bobby and help him dig something up from the lore."

Sam and Castiel exchanged a worried glance. Next second Dean barked:

"Well, don't you need to go?"

Sam frowned in bafflement.

"Dude, he walked in here. He has to walk out..."

"Uhm. Right..."

The younger Winchester darted at Castiel again, but this time the angel didn't meet Sam's eyes. The man wished he could tell what this whole scene could mean.


	3. Chapter 3

Five hours and seven interviews with _Blue Oyster_ employees the Winchesters weren't a single step closer to solving the case. Sam walked out of the motel room to speak to Singer, leaving his brother one-to-one with his dark ruminations that made him look like he'd just eaten a bucket of lemons.

"Hey, kid," the man's raspy voice resounded on the other side of the line after a few beeps.

"Hi," Winchester began, "What's up? Came to terms with these domoviye?"

"Yes, yes." Singer replied unnecessarily loud "They are very nice and helpful. I can't express how I cherish their presence!"

It didn't take Sam's perspicacity to know that Bobby was lying, so the hunter decided there was no sense in trying to know the truth. He knew his foster father well enough to be sure that he could manage a few nasty house elves.

"What about the case?" he asked "This smear and fingerprints?"

"I ain't found shit," Bobby grumbled, "Ya sure it was soot, not tar?"

"That's what Cas said," Sam sighed. "And... about Cas... Is it me, or did you notice Dean acting really weird before we left?"

"No..." Bobby insisted "I noticed Dean acting really weird earlier and getting back to normal before you left. That idjit's been all lovey-dovey, grinning like a Cheshire cat, making sheep's eyes... I was starting to wonder if he could be a changeling, but here he is again, good old Dean. Grumpy and prickly as always."

Sam bit his lower lip pensively.

"He's a bit more grumpy than usually, though..."

"Son, did you really think he'd be okay with all that crap?" by the sound of Bobby's voice Sam could tell that the man rolled up his eyes and jiggled his head; he smiled tenderly at the thought "This whole daisy chain of gayness rained down on him at once. I'd worry if he wasn't pissed. Give him some time. You know him. If anything gets under his skin, he'll be sick for months."

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

A minute later he got a text message. It befuddled him, because Singer hardly ever texted. This time, though, he had a good reason.

The text read:

THE DOMOVIYE ARE A PAIN IN THE ASS. IF I TALK CRAP ABOUT THEM OR FORGET AN OFFERING THEY CLOG MY SHITTER WITH OLD NEWSPAPERS

xXx

Sam had expected nearly anything from Dean: throwing a tantrum, storming out of the room, punching him, shouting, turning on the TV to ostentatiously watch porn or even running away. Anything but a shrug with which Dean welcomed his younger brother's revelation.

"So... You're okay with it?" he asked cautiously.

"No, Sam, of course I'm not okay with it," the older Winchester growled grimly from his bed; he'd been lying immobile and staring blankly into the ceiling for the whole time when Sam had been explaining his plan, "I'm sick and tired of this shit. I just want it to be over. If you want me to wear a tutu, I'll wear a friggin' tutu. I can even wear fishnet stockings. Whatever. Just let's do it and get out of here."

"All righty. I'm calling Charlie."

Dean sat bolt upright.

"Why?"

"Because we need her help." _Duh_.

The older Winchester slumped onto the bed again.

"Man, why can't you just take it easy? It's gonna be fun," Sam tried to cheer him up, driven mainly by his sense of duty. He knew there was zero chance of success.

"No, this isn't gonna be fun," Dean rubbed his face and blew a raspberry "blending in? In a gay club? That's fucked up. How is it even possible?"

Sam was inarticulate for a moment. Then, a sudden upsurge of amusement took over, drowning out his vexation.

"I don't know. You're right. There's no way we could ever blend in. We cannot grow extra limbs or become green, bald and super skinny. They will wise up right away that we're humans, not gayliens."

"Fuck you..."

xXx

Sam wished he could recognize the state of Castiel's mind with half the accuracy Dean managed to achieve, but there was no way that he could decipher his expression. All he knew was that Cas was getting agitated, though he couldn't tell if the angel awaited Dean's and Charlie's arrival with excitement, fear or chafe. He stood next to the window, almost flattened against it and kept staring at the parking lot with his usual robocopic immobility that was starting to freak Sam out.

"Everything okay?" the hunter asked.

There was no reaction.

"Cas, calm down. They're probably stuck in traffic. It's Friday. Everyone goes to the mall on Fridays."

"Do you think Dean is going to be irritated? As far as I know he is not fond of shopping..." the Seraph asked quietly without taking his eyes off the parking lot.

Winchester just sighed. Of course Dean would be pissed unless Charlie found a magical way to cheer him up, which - when he thought about it - wasn't that improbable. That had been one of the reasons why Sam had called her. He had considered buying Dean a night in a fine brothel, but he'd rejected this idea. Admittedly, Dean was pretty dense in social interactions, but he could be incredibly quick-witted when it came to finding reasons to be insecure and resentful. He'd immediately retrace Sam's reasoning that led to a conclusion that - given the circumstances - Dean needed a night with a woman to confirm his masculinity, which would inevitably remind Dean about Sam's opinion that Dean was an overcompensating butch. That, in turn, would clue Dean in on a belief that Sam suspected that there was a reason for this overcompensation... which wasn't entirely untrue.

No. Dean needed simplicity. Charlie's straightforwardness and cheerfulness were the only things that could save the day.

"May I ask you a question?" Castiel's raspy voice interrupted Sam's train of thought.

"Heah, sure."

He had an impression that the angel was a bit abashed, but then again, it could be anything.

"I have observed that when women engage in a sexual relationship with men... They tend do wonder if any emotions are involved on the man's part...Namely...love."

Sam almost swallowed his own tongue. Luckily, Castiel did not notice the way Sam's eyes widened or the way he gaped at him, poleaxed, wondering where the hell the angel could have _observed_ it.

"Is it... typical for a man..." the Seraph was noticeably struggling to find proper words when he continued, not moved by Sam's staring or huffs of disbelief "to display an exactly opposite tendency?"

The hunter had to take a deep breath. He carded his fingers through his hair and somehow his forgot about it halfway, so he ended up with his hands on his head. Oddly, this gesture reflected his state of mind pretty well.

"Cas, where did you... What... I mean... The hell?"

Castiel budged, as if the weirdness of what he had just said suddenly occurred to him.

"It was just a hypothetical question," he assured quickly.

He was a terrible liar. Sam immediately knew thah the question was far from hypothetical, but, for God's sake, where had Cas observed _that_?

Winchester was just starting to disentangle the muddle of thoughts and question and sheer shock in his mind when the Seraph moved away from the window. The next second Impala's warm, feline rumble resounded on the driveway.

A moment later the door flung open and a tornado of joy, color and fiery red hair stormed in, whooping:

"Hello, bithes!"

* * *

 **OK, I feel like I owe you an explaination. This story, as well as 'What you see is what you get' which takes place just a couple of days earlier, is set some-when after Season 5 of the TV show. I decided to use the _artistic license_ to pull Sam out of the Cage with his soul intact and without any tormenting memories as well as to remove the threat of Raphael resuming the Apocalypse. I just like the psychological and emotional situation from the end of S5/beginning of S6: Castiel being a BAMF, Dean being pro-Cas, Sam disliking Cas a bit. **

**What is Charlie doing here, then? She's so cool and adorable that I couldn't help using the powerful card of _artistic license_ once again to drag her a* here from season 7. I hope you forgive me for messing with the timeline. **

**P.S.**

 **Misha Collins is the Board President of an organization called 'Random act of kindness'. Remember that leaving a review is an act of kindness too :) If you don't like something, don't hesitate to let me know. I'm open to constructive criticism that helps me write better.**


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie did cheer Dean up. He seemed relaxed, or at least not willing to garrotte everyone in his immediate vicinity when he followed her into the room, but his good humor faded as soon as his look fell on Castiel, who was still glued to the window with his face frozen in an expression of distant dignity.

Sam had tried to convince himself that there was nothing strange about Castiel - that is, nothing stranger than the fact that he was a socially awkward dork intelligent enough to comprehend the general relativity and quantum physic, but not enough to tie a simple Windsor knot. No paranormal activity. No trails of divine might seeping from him when it could no longer be contained by his small, fragile body. He had gotten used to ignoring the eerie impression that the air around the Seraph was constantly simmering, brimming with white-hot power. This time, however, he would have sworn that the air around the Seraph froze into a solid, impermeable block of leave-me-alone-ness.

Dean sat down next to the table and proceeded with emptying a beer bottle with the verve of someone whose life depended on it. He managed to suck out almost half of the drink before he had to take a break. It was brief. After a few seconds, the sound of strenuous gulping filled the motel room again.

Charlie fumbled in one of the big, swishing, colorful bags she had brought. She finally emerged with an armful of pieces of clothing. Dean darted at her nervously, froze for a moment, then huffed a soft breath and relaxed. The whole sequence was barely noticeable, but Sam knew his brother well enough to recognize how relieved he was.

He had probably expected black leather and spiked belts.

"So, who's first?" Charlie threw the bundle of clothes onto one bed and clapped her thighs merrily.

"I can have a go." Sam rasped, eyeing the T-shirts, scarves, belts and a tangle of something that appeared to be jewelry.

Charlie gave him a once-over, then smirked, tapping her chin.

"I think we'll go for an awkward geek look!"

"Make it a Latino lover. You've gotta make a good use of his girly hair..." Dean grumbled, staring ahead with blank, unfocused eyes. The girl giggled.

"He has no idea about anything whatsoever..." she whispered conspiratorially, wiggling her eyebrows, then she handed Sam a black T-shirt with a white caption that said: AND THEN GOD SAID - AND THERE WAS LIGHT with the Maxwell's equation in between.

When Sam had pulled it on, Charlie assessed the effect with a wry face.

"No, that's not it. Try this one..." she chirped, handing him a gray A-shirt.

"A wife beater?" The hunter tilted his head, glaring at the piece of thin, elastic fabric. Forced by Charlie's decisive look, he finally put the shirt on with a loud groan of discontentment.

The girl squealed in delight when she saw the effect.

"Grr, you sexy beast. Show off your pecs and guns! Now all you need is a..." she murmured, groping in the bundle of suppossedly-jewellry and finally pulled out dog tags. "That's perfect!" she clapped her hands in excitement.

Through the buzz of confusion filling his head, Sam heard Dean's loud, uninhibited laughter.

"Dude, all you need is a yellow hard hat and you'll get every ass in the club!"

"Yeah?" Sam sent his brother a challenging glare "Let's see what this hellcat's gonna make of you..."

With his heart in his mouth he walked to the bathroom to see the effect of Charlie's magic in the mirror. It wasn't that bad. He had to admit that he was looking kinda hot.

He straightened up the A-shirt and readjusted his belt, then tried a few poises. His lips curved in a smirk of contentment and pride. Yeah. He was definitely looking good.

"Now, it's gonna be a hard graft with mister trench coat..." Charlie grizzled with her arns crossed.

Castiel pretended that he didn't notice.

"Ekhrm... Ground control to Cas-ti-el! Do you copy?"

The angel budged and sent her a resigned, dreamy look.

"If I can make this work, I'm gonna become a CIA disguise specialist or something..." the girl muttered to herself, shaking her head and browsing through the heap of clothes. "OK, I'm sure I got the shoes right, but 'bout the shirt... Remind me. What was your size?"

Castiel just tilted his head. Dean sighed, approached him and tugged on the collar of his trench to evert it and see the size tag. Sam, who had returned from the bathroom couldn't help an impression that this gesture was unnecessarily rough.

"It's a 40," the hunter barked, returning to chair.

Charlie rose her eyebrows and curled her upper lip, but did not comment it.

"So, let me see...Ok, the awkward geek may actually suit you..." She handed Cas a pile of clothes, then put a pair of chuck taylors on top of it.

The angel emerged from the bathroom after a couple of minutes. He was wearing stonewashed jeans with a red silicone belt, a tight black T-shirt with a Superman logo, an unbuttoned blue shirt and two silicone wristbands matching the belt and the shirt.

The younger Winchester nodded with approval.

The older squirmed uncomfortably in his chair with a choked back gasp, lifting one knee and pressing the heel of his hand to the other.

Charlie winced.

"I don't know. There is something wrong with your face. I mean... You look so totally straight that you could be shown as a holotype of straightness in a museum..."

"Which is kinda funny, because he is the only dude here that isn't straight," Dean horned in with a vinegary edge in his voice.

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but lost his nerve and just exhaled jerkily, then fixed his look on the window again.

Sam looked at his brother askance. It was getting weirder every minute.

"Let's see what we can do with this body of an exemplary husband and father..." the girl approached Castiel, carrying a jar of hair styling gel, then proceeded ruffle his hair. The Seraph underwent the procedure indifferently, but there was a threatening spark in his eyes.

"Excuse me for not choosing a carouser for a vessel," he answered coldly.

Dean cleared his throat.

"All right, Betsy Johnson. What do you have for me?"

Charlie gripped Dean's wrists to pull him to his feet and looked at him critically.

Sam found the expression of sheer anguish on his brother's face irresistibly amusing.

"Remember, kids. You have to be this gay to enjoy this ride!" he made the teapot limp-wrist gesture, pointing at the top of Dean's head.

Perhaps the joke wasn't all that funny, but Dean's terrified look of a drowning horse turned it into one of Sam's most glorious moments.

"Well..." Charlie struggled with an inrush of giggles, rubbing her chin and squinting at Dean's worn-out jeans, leather boots and hunter green henley shirt, "I don't know how to break it to you, but it looks like you're ready to go."

Sam was full-on ready to protect Charlie from Dean's murderous fury with his own life, but nothing really happened. The older Winchester just huffed a forced laugh and zeroed his second beer with a wry face.

"Right. I don't know what I expected..."

Charlie took it at face value.

"It's just that you'll have to unbutton the placket. Show some of your, you know..." somehow she psyched out that it wasn't a good moment to crack jokes about Dean's physique. Sam rose his eyes with relief.

"No way."

"Come on...!"

With a bitchy eyeroll, Dean tugged sharply at his collar. Snaps opened with a loud crackle.

"Happy now?"

He sent Charlie a withering glare, while she stared at his chest, inarticulate and spellbound. The sight of the angel feather caught Sam off-guard as well, though he had seen it a few times.

Charlie darted at Dean's face, then at Cas, then at Dean again before the irresistible beauty of the black, silver and white covert arrested her look again.

"Is it... What I think it is?"

"Yep."

The girl finally managed to look at Dean.

"Aaaand... You're still wearing it? Even after..." Sheer panic flashed through her face a moment before she covered her mouth with both hands. "Whoops. Big mouth. Never mind. Let's..." she struggled to find a cover up; the more she struggled, the more alarming the whole slip seemed, "Yes!" she exclaimed with triumph, "Let's grab some food before we get down to work. Finally, I'll be working with you! Yay!"

What was even weirder was that Castiel gasped slightly, then went back to the bathroom to search the pockets of his trench coat for something that he later slipped to a pocket in his jeans. He was trying to be stealthy, but Sam caught a metallic glimmer of the zippo lighter in Cas's hand anyway.

Still blushing, Charlie ordered:

"So... Let's go, right?", then she exited the room, followed closely by the Seraph. Sam stayed behind to hiss to his brother:

"Are we gonna talk about it?"

"No," Dean rasped gutturally. "You heard her. Food. Work. Nothing to talk about."

* * *

 **I am ready for a little bit of hate for suggesting that gay people look and dress different than straight people. Before you proceed to lynch me, let me explain. I have 3 things to say in my defense. 1 - All opinions presented in the story are expressed by the characters so they don't reflect my opinions, rather my attempt to guess what Sam's, Charlie's and Dean's opinions would be 2 - I needed this dressing-up scene because of reasons 3 - Can you imagine Castiel in his suit and trench in a club?**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN**

 **I must admit that I have no idea how this kind of establishments function in the U.S.A., but I needed an anchor for my mind to set the events - people, furniture, customs, behavior, atmosphere etc., so I am describing my favorite gay friendly club in Poland. I did some research and as far as I could tell from photo galleries, gay friendly clubs in small American cities are not that different from Polish ones, so it's not entirely a blasphemy to use an example I know. I figured that it would come out less woodenly if I write about a place I am familiar with even if it's in a wrong country than if I tried to write about places I have no idea about. Please bear that in mind and do not bristle that this chapter may seem unrealistic. I'm doing my best.**

* * *

xXx

Dean gulped, then rose his foot...

...and remained like that, breathing heavily as he tried to peep into the club, tilting left as far as he could in order to see past a bulky bouncer standing in the doorway. Charlie's nudge almost toppled him. He kicked his heels and rammed into the dimly lit corridor head first.

"First time," he heard Charlie's apologetic twitter "Fresh out of the closet, you know the type..."

The bouncer chuckled and uttered a murmur of understanding. It was warm and deep and friendly.

The twenty-something skinny coatroom girl with an Aerosmith logo tattooed on her arm smiled to him and gave him the eye. It felt good, though he had a vague impression that it wasn't a flirtation at all. Just a friendly poke.

For a guy who must have looked like he was facing a firing squad. Yes. It was nice of her.

The first thing Dean noticed when he emerged from the darkness of a long corridor leading to the dance floor was that everyone seemed to be having a good time. He had expected a place designed to facilitate finding a sexual partner, the colorful mass crowding on the dance floor and around the bar was surprisingly asexual. There were no tanned party princesses with sour faces and mini-skirts, nor sweaty bucks desperate to get laid. Of course he spotted a circle of conceited hipster drama queens dancing with their man-purses on, but they seemed separated from the others by an invisible, but impermeable wall of mutual antipathy.

There was something about the music, about the groups of people bouncing in rhythm, the flickering of purple, blue and green light, about the way people turned around and smiled at Dean when he was passing through that made him feel welcome. Though there were only faces he could see for the first time in his life, no one in this place was a stranger.

The hunter was so dumbfounded that he hardly moved when someone yanked his elbow. Dean turned around to see Sam, pointing towards a small table with two red leatherette couches. Charlie and Cas were already there.

As he was walking towards the table on shaky legs, a remix of Kiss's _I was made for loving you_ started playing. Of course mixing a classic was an abominable blasphemy, but Dean's head started to jiggle in rhythm and his lips curved in a restrained smile anyway.

xXx

About midnight it occurred to Sam that despite sitting on a slight dais that gave them a reasonable scope on the whole club, the couldn't see enough due to the thickening crowd on the dancefloor. In particular, they needed to see the entryway to the chill out room. It had been all but empty so far, so it seemed reasonable to observe it from the outside. There was one place that would make a much better watchtower. A catwalk in the middle of the dancefloor.

He followed Charlie's gaze. She's been biting her lower lip with her brows furrowed, apparently thinking the same. Their eyes finally met. Sam grunted and clapped his thighs.

"Well, ladies, I'm afraid we'll have to do it Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson style." Charlie announced merrily.

"You mean using our incredible brains?" Dean asked. Sam immediately remembered that particular scene that had him laughing his ass off and Dean snickering nervously. From Dean's wince he could tell that the hunter remembered it as well.

"No," Sam didn't hesitate to shatter his brother's hope, "She means dancing all over the place."

For a split second Dean looked like he was hit with a shovel on the head. The next moment, a manic spark flared up in his eyes.

"Charlie!" he exclaimed, proferring his hand stiffly and so abruptly that he nearly smacked her on the nose.

They disappeared in the colorful, bouncing crowd, accompanied by Charlie's snicker. Sam tried to catch a glimpse of his brother's green henley or the girl's checkered purple and orange button-down, but it was impossible. He clicked his tongue and looked at Castiel askance.

"So, uhm..."

There was no way Sam was getting these words through his throat without the aid of alcohol. It wasn't that he feared chick-flick moments as much as Dean did, but Cas was still practically a stranger to him.

...and Sam was too afraid of the answer to his question.

A big swig of VRB didn't help much.

 _So, uhm, is there something between you and Dean? What happened in Dublin? Did my brother say something harsh? Did he say or do something you don't understand?..._ All of this got stuck somewhere between his brain and vocal chords. No matter how hard he tried to get it out, it was jammed for good.

"So, uhm... Do you have any idea what kind of creature we are facing?"

The angel looked like Sam's question interrupted some dismal ruminations.

"I, well..." he looked up, as if he was looking for an answer in the darkened, uneven ceiling, then turned to the dancefloor, "are you sure the coroner's report said that they died of hypoxia because their hemoglobin did not transport oxygen properly?"

"Yeah. Freaky, huh?"

"Indeed. It's bizarre," the Seraph sighed. Sam followed his gaze to see a glimpse of Dean's head and back with Charlie's white arms wrapped around his waist.

xXx

Besides a really large dancefloor and tolerable music, the place had another advantage. Bottled vodka and energy drinks were really cheap. The importance of this fact struck Sam when he noticed a certain pattern. Each time Dean left the table to snoop around (people waiting in lines to the bar and the restrooms were surprisingly chatty) or dance with Charlie, Cas downed his own and Dean's drinks, then refilled the man's tumbler before the would come back.

When the angel finally unglued himself from his seat to have his turn of poking-around, Dean did exactly the same.

Twice.

xXx

About 2 AM the room was so densely packed with people that they had to do the dancing routine in two pairs. Dean clung Charlie like a scared chimpanzee, so Sam had no other option than to ask Cas to dance.

As if it was not enough, the DJ decided it was the perfect time for first set of slows.

Luckily, many of other people disagreed. As soon as the first beats of a slightly discoed-up version of _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ started to play, about one third of the people evacuated from the dancefloor and rushed to the bar (and Sam could _totally_ relate to why they did this, but he'd sworn to dedicate his life to saving people even if it required slowdancing to a Bonny Tyler's classic).

xXx

Dean was sure this is what prom felt like. He kept wincing and huffing, trying not to sneeze every time Charlie's hair tickled his nose. He kept trying to keep a reasonable distance from her soft, tiny body while embracing her properly without looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. He kept trying not to trip or fall down from the catwalk, which wasn't that easy given that he was... Well, he definitely had been more sober once or twice in his life. Somewhere in the muddle of his VRB-blunted mind there was was this alarming thought that he was looking like a fat no-life having his first awkward boner. Except that he was far from getting one. In his mind, the girl was something between a little sister and a dude, though her latest actions made Dean's feelings veer towards the latter.

Sam took him totally off guard when he hissed "Hijacking!" and whipped squealing Charlie from him. Squealing of excitement, of course.

Before Dean caught up on the situation, he was holding Cas, feeling the warmth of his lean, but firm body against his own and the soft tickle of Cas's stubble on the lobe of his ear. When the roughness was replaced by silky smoothness of the angel's lips, an unexpected (and absolutely awkward) shudder swept down Dean's spine.

"We've spotted something. Turn around..." Castiel's whisper bore into Dean's skull. He understood nothing. All he knew was _chilly_ and _hot_ and _sharp_ and _electrifying_ and _oh my God_.

"Wha..?" he mumbled, having realized that Cas expected something. Instead of repeating his request, the Seraph just grabbed his partner's hips to swing him around.

The world spun around Dean; the earth quaked beneath his feet. He found himself with his back pressed against Cas's chest, with their hips grinding together. Cas's arm around Dean's waist and his hand placed flatly on Dean's ribs, pulling him closer - all of it nearly forced a moan from the man's throat. With the remnants of his self-control he managed to stay silent, but there was this absolutely unmanly gasp he couldn't stop in time.

"Look at the slender, dark-haired man in a black shirt and the kid he it talking to," Castiel's deep, gravelly whisper poured into Dean's ear, invading his veins and taking over his mind, "Doesn't he look hypnotized? Or drugged?"

Winchester fought the wave of overwhelming weakness that spread under his skin. He somehow managed to shake off, though his there was still this tingling and burning sensation in every patch of his skin that touched Castiel's.

"Half of the kids here is drugged, man..."

"Yes, but it was happening as the man was speaking. It's progressing fast." Every flick of Cas's lips on Dean's ear felt like a touch of hot iron and liquid nitrogen. He wanted to run away and lean and beg in for more. Luckily, his hunter's instinct kicked in just in time when the dark-haired man took the short, skinny boy by the hand and led him to the chillout room.

Dean and Cas moved to follow them just a split second after Sam and Charlie did.


	6. Chapter 6

Before they got there, the man was gone. The small, dark-skinned guy with dreadlocks and striking piercing was seated on a recliner, looking paler every second. Before Sam managed to get angry that they had let the creature escape, the guy's head started to loll and his breath quickened.

Onlookers were starting to gather around the kid, perhaps more interested by the havoc made by the hunters than the fact that the guy was developing some kind of a seizure. Sam Winchester didn't think twice.

"FBI!" he shouted, waving his fake badge he had on him just in case. "Anyone who saw what happened in here, please stay in the room. You'll be enlisted as witnesses."

Just like he expected, the chill-out room emptied in no time, but it was the only victory that evening. The hunter gritted his teeth in frustration. Except for a suffocating boy, they had nothing.

The next second Cas emerged from an adjacent room or corridor (the hunters hadn's spotted the other door before), breathing heavily, with his hair tousled and his clothes in disarray. There was some blood smeared on his forehead - Sam guessed it was from a wound that was already healed - and he was clutching a bloody strand of black hair.

"I'm sorry, he was too fast, but I have a piece of him. We can locate him now..." having spotted the boy, Castiel rushed to him, handing the hair to Sam in the process (and yes, to the man's horror the strand was held together by a tiny patch of skin).

"Did you... You were..." Dean babbled in confusion, pointing at the entrance with one hand and at the other door with the other, then he crossed the hands swapping the directions they were pointing and frowned, then he repeated this pantomime that clearly meant what-the-hell and frowned more.

Cas shushed him, focused on healing the boy.

"Dude, he can fly." Sam reminded.

"Yeah. Right. Wings. Right."

After a couple of seconds the boy's breath steadied, but he was still unconscious.

"What... Was that?" Charlie finally managed to find her tongue.

"I am not sure." the angel replied, oblivious to the fact that Charlie meant the whole situation, "Carbon monoxide or a poison with similar effects. He is stable for now, but I am not sure if I managed to clear it out of his system. You should take him to a hospital."

"Look!" Sam leaned over the unconscious guy.

On the upper front of the green T-shirt he was wearing there was a distinct shape of a black hand with gecko-like fingerprints.

xXx

By the time they reached the motel, the buzz of excitement had ebbed and Dean was slowly recognizing that he was still mildly drunk. They were alone with Cas with at least an hour of downtime before Sam and Charlie would return from the hospital. Perhaps even more, if these two were questioned by the police right away. Anyway, they had had to take three singles, so there was no reason to worry that Sam would disturb them. It was highly improbable that an opportunity like this would present itself anytime soon.

"Wow, Cas, you totally saved the day..." Winchester poured himself a double of his own personal favorite scotch. It was a nice change after the sparkly, sweet and tart drinks.

"I didn't. I wasn't able to smite that creature and I didn't draw the blade fast enough."

Dean observed the angel intently as he run his palm up his forehead and head. The small smear of blood as well as dried hair gel disappeared at this touch. Soft, dark-chocolate-brown locks spilled from between his fingers, giving him the disheveled, youthful, a-little-out-of-it look Dean liked so much.

Wait. Did he?

"Yeah, but you fought that something. On your own. And you saved the kid," Dean stood up and approached Cas, alarmingly close to pinning him to the wall, "You rock."

"It's time for me to go, Dean," the angel announced flatly, "Call me if you need further assistance."

"You can't just go, not now," the man cocked his head. The perimeters of his field of vision were blurred, but he could clealy see Cas's eyes; every flicker of his eyelids and brows, every tiniest undertone of emotion on his seemingly stony face. He could tell how hard the angel fought not to give in to Dean's will and keep him at distance. Driven by Cas's scowl he finally took a step back. The angel sidestepped him and took the bundle of his old clothes from the chair, then proceeded to take off the garments Charlie had bought for him.

Dean inhaled sharply and bit his lower lip.

"You should not have done that," his growl was low and dark, and brimming with barely restrained lust when he saw the play of well-defined muscles underneath the pale skin of Cas's back and shoulders, "You really should not have done that."

The Seraph froze, more worried than confused. Dean reclaimed the space from which the angel had expelled him, then made this one final step that he needed to lock Castiel in the narrow space between his arms and the wall.

"You still have no idea, don't you?" he whispered into the Seraph's nape "Even after Dublin?"

"Dean, please..."

The man skimmed the arch of Castiel's neck and shoulder with his lips before nipping Cas's skin slightly, just enough to make it flare a bit.

"C'mon, let me show you. This time it will be for real. I won't chicken out..."

His hands clasped on Castiel's hips followed the slow, lazy movement when the angel tried to snake out from Dean's embrace, but when the man decided Cas was getting too far, his grip turned from soft into iron-hard and inflexible. The Seraph did not fight when Dean pulled him closer again and cued him to turn around.

"I know you want it," he rasped; his voice was already a bit slurry, but his touch was not any less decided when he worked his hands up Castiel's sides and chest, "Sorry for screwing up last time. Now... Screw regrets," he gestured towards the bed with his head, bearing a small, impish smile.

"Dean, you don't mean it," the angel's eyebrows furrowed; he was breathing heavily - something Dean has never seen before. Nor had he seen Cas's lips so wet and his cheeks flushed.

"Just... Shut up, Cas."

The angel shuddered when Dean's lips impinged on his; hard, demanding, unyielding. Castiel's breath burned Dean's skin, his ice-cold fingers sent flares of pleasure down the man's body even when the angel seemed to be pushing him away. Dean did not concede. He ground against Cas even harder, locking his wrists above his head in a vice-like grip.

"I want you. I fucking want you, you hear me? Now that I know how it could be like, it's driving me crazy. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I want it again, and this time I want more. This time it will be for real..."

Castiel forced out a hard, angry breath and yanked his hands free. This time, when he really wanted it, there was no way for any human to stop him.

"Dean, you don't," he ground out, "I... I won't let you hurt yourself anymore," the cold edge in his voice slowly gave way to concern when he trailed the curve of Dean's cheekbone and jaw with the back of his hand.

"You're hurting me either way," Winchester grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of Cas's neck, pressing the other hand into the small of his back; the angel gave in easily, leaned on Dean almost with his whole weight, "Just tell me you don't feel it. Say it and I''ll let go," the man breathed right into Cas's ear.

"This is different..." the angel's protest was weak and brittle, almost voiceless.

"How is this different?"

Instead of replying, Castiel pulled Dean into a vehement embrace, clawing at his shoulders as if he wanted to bury himself in Dean, merge with him with robustness and despair of a drowning man.

"I don't know," he muttered against Dean's neck, still clinging to him like Dean was the only one who could save him from God knows what haunted his weary mind.

Winchester held him firmly with one arm while he moved his other hands down Cas's side, digging his nails slightly in Cas's skin and then slipped it into his trousers. The angel clutched him even harder with a slight, strangled gasp.

"You want it" the hunter murmured with contentment, "I knew it."

* * *

 **I realize that this chapter may be a bit puzzling or surprising, but next ones will explain everything. Stay tuned for more.**

 **I'd like to thank greendragon56, CortLand and for for their kind comments and apologize to yusugi (if you're still reading this) for not taking her advice. I hope you'll like it ayway.**


	7. Chapter 7

"Carbon monoxide. Gecko hand print in soot. Vics dying of hypoxia. Bastard strong enough to hoof it from Cas. Great," Bobby grumbled on the other side of the line; his voice was somewhat muffled like he was holding the phone pressed between his cheek and shoulder, already browsing through his books or taking notes, "You know what, boy? There are these normal people who don't believe in any ghosts or demons or anything. Then there are hunters who dig like a few dozens of species of shit, and there are the Winchesters who always happen to stumble across something ten times crazier. Huh. You even managed to blag an angel... Why am I still surprised..."

Sam remained silent, hoping that Singer wouldn't hear Charlie's barely restrained laughter at his eye rolls and bitchfaces he was making while Bobby was still nagging, accompanied by a loud rustle of old paper, parchment and scrolls.

"Tell me now, was any candle burning when this sucker appeared?"

"What?" Sam sobered up momentarily, "No. I mean... Damn, you're right. They were candles, but they were all out. You mean you have a lead?"

"I mighta, but don't make me read the sucker's name out loud. It can be translated as a smotherer. An evil bastard that asphyxiates folks and guess what, he's from Slavic part of Europe. Congratulations on digging up two weirdest sonsofbitches ever in less than a month."

"No mention of a way of killing him?"

"Aw, you idjit, I thought we had it sorted out. Ancient Slavs weren't all that keen on killing their weirdo dei-tulpas or whatever. But there is a way of telling that he's coming. Candles go out."

Winchester started to ferret around. Charlie guessed what he needed and handed him her star-wars-themed mini notebook and a pen.

And yes, the pen's clicker was shaped like R2D2's head.

The hunter scrawled a few keywords.

"Anything about the vics, Bobby?" he asked hopefully, "We didn't find any connection."

"If I get this right, he goes about reckless people. That's all there is."

"Yeah. I guess letting a shady dude do whatever to you in a nigh club may counts as reckless..."

"So what, are you going to locate him today?"

Sam cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we should find a way to gank him first. Or, you know, instead of summoning we could just go off-hand. If he's drawn to reckless people..."

Bobby huffed in irritation.

"You could try an angel blade. Cas says it kills pretty much anything except these feathered asshole triplets."

"Quadruplets," Sam corrected and sighed, "and about that... Have you seen Cas?"

"Why would I see Cas? Last time I checked he was gallivanting around nightclubs with his new hubby and bro-in-law."

The look of disappointment and worry on his face must have been obvious. Charlie mirrored it without even hearing what Bobby said.

That was when they heard the door to Dean's room open, then his slow footsteps on the wooden gallery connecting the door to all the motel rooms. The hunter shambled into Sam's room without knocking, dressed in fresh clothes but with the air of sleepiness and weariness still lingering around him. He was shuffling his feet, yawning and squinting in the bright morning light.

Sam hastily thanked Bobby for his aid and hung up. Charlie gathered up her things, then chirped, tossing them to her black neoprene messenger bag:

"I think I'm gonna grab some caffeine... and, you know, do some research..."

"We can do it later. There's WiFi here and..." Sam began, but she horned in, tiptoeing towards the door.

"No, I've always wanted to do this. So nerdy. You two take your time and let Miss Spock do the trick. See ya, bitches!"

xXx

"What did you do to Cas?" Sam asked harshly. Dean squinted at him.

"What?"

"He left last night. Or technically, this morning. He isn't answering my prayers. Or the phone."

The older Winchester sat on the bed and eyed a small bottle of water provided by the motel. From his expression Sam could tell what he was thinking - that it probably tasted like it was poured into the bottle straight from the toilet. Dean curled his lip and placed the bottle back on the nightstand.

"Perhaps he's got his own business upstairs," he explained "Dude's busy. Now that he know what to do, we'll manage without him."

The younger man left his safe placing by the window and sat on a small stool, facing his brother.

"Dean, what did you do to him?" he insisted, aiding himself with the calming-persuasive gesticulation he had learned during an extracurricular course back in Stanford, "I know you aren't exactly a sharing type, but this is serious. Man, you have to level with me and tell me what's this all about."

"Why?" Dean rose his chin.

"Because..." Sam took a deep, calming breath, feeling with growing embarrassment that it was jerkier than he had hoped it would be "Well, you've done some crazy shit. I know, it was never my business so I kept my nose clean, but this time... This time it's Cas."

"And?" Dean tried to look unruffled, but there was an undertone of panic and anger in his voice.

"And I heard you last night." Sam announced solemnly.

The older Winchester was mortified. It lasted but a second, but for this second Sam could see all his fear and fury. Fury, that - most probably - he had tried to take out on Castiel earlier. Next moment he was able to maintain his usual devil-may-care attitude.

"So what? " He snarled, gesticulating dismissively, "All right, I banged a dude. What's the deal? I didn't go to college, but everybody has this phase, okay?"

Sam sighed. Why had he even hoped that it would go any different? Normally he would back off and let his brother make all the mistakes in the world, but this time he couldn't. This time the mistake would scar Dean for life.

"Dean. That's not the point," he insisted, surprised by the sheepish look of sheer confusion on Dean's face. It took Sam a while to process what shocked his elder so much, "Dude, I'm not judging you. To be honest, I don't care. I know you expected me to be hot and bothered, but, you know what? I'm sorry, but we've been through so much shit that I've run out of fucks to give about your sex life. I'm here because I wanna help you, not because I want to tell you something. I don't. I'm just saying that I'm right here."

The older Winchester gaped at him.

"So... You wanna go Dr Phil on me now?"

Sam pursed his lips. He hadn't expected this to go this smooth and he was still expecting a few hidden obstacles.

"Well, It's not exactly on my bucket list, but if wanna spill it, go ahead and spill it."

Dean's lips budged in a faint smile, but in no time he saddened again. He fixed his gaze on the drab, frayed carpet with his jaws set.

"How much do you know?" he finally choked out.

Sam swallowed back an angry grunt. Naturally. The big, self-reliant, unbowed Dean wanted to play this all on his own terms. The younger Winchester knew the other well enough to realize that it wouId be Dean's way or no way.

"I know that he's been downbeat, trailing around and asking weird questions, and clearly afraid of you for a couple of days," he reeled off, "It wasn't the first time, huh?"

There was a small nod, quick and tentative.

"Dude," the younger brother breathed in disbelief, "Didn't it occur to you that it was a total dick move?"

"It wasn't like that," Dean opposed in a small, brittle voice, "Earlier we didn't... Fuck it," he drawled out and took a deep breath, "Hell, if you need to know, last night was the first time we did the home run," he spat out with dogged fury, racing his own shame that would prevent him from speaking on.

Sam stood up to walk a few circles.

"Hold on. Let's sum up," he started stoutly, turning to face his brother "You hit on Cas, then I guess you hauled him over the coals for doing exactly what you wanted, right?" Dean's look confirmed Sam's concern, "Wow. Then you took his virginity. Shitfaced. They you asked him to hook it? Dean, you're starting to freak me out. Honestly, I never thought you could do something like this."

There was no reaction except that Dean hunched even more. Sam sat down again; he tried to catch his brother's look, but it every attempt was inviable. The older Winchester was engrossed in trailing the gray-and-brown zigzags on the carpet.

"Dean... Are you sure that he even wanted it?"

"Wh... What? Yes!" Dean bristled "He's a fucking Seraph. He could have smitten me like a flea if he wanted. There's no way I could...dunno. Force him to do anything."

"You sure?" Sam sighed; everything was starting to make sense, "Do you think he even understands what's going on? You can't just assume... Damn, you're lost and you know the topic inside out. He's not even human, Dean. You confuse the hell out of him," he stood up slowly and walked to the window to gather his thoughts, then turned to his brother, "Did you know that he almost asked me to have the sex talk with him yesterday? You need to talk to him. Explain. And apologize."

"There's nothing to talk about. All right. I'll try not to confuse him anymore, but I can't... He's a big boy, he'll get a grasp of it," the older Winchester assured hesitantly, but when he saw Sam's admonitory scowl, he snarled, jumping to his feet, "I'm not his father, goddamnit!"

"Yeah, but in some weird, trippy way you're his husband. I saw what happened during that ceremony. Dean, you're his only family. Who else can he talk to?" Sam made a wide gesture "His dad, who doesn't give a rats ass about him? These assholes and hellcats calling themselves his siblings? The only other angel that was equipped with something remotely resembling a heart was stabbed to death by Lucifer. Because of us. Because of you."

Dean stood immobile for a while, straightened up, breathing heavily, with his arms opened in a challenging gesture. Finally something broke in him.

"You know what?" he yelled, "I'm sick of it. I'm sick and tired of trying to wade through all the shit life throws at me. I have my limits. All you see is your mighty, precious righteous man or your infallible big brother, but fuck, Sam, I am a human. I'm not evil, but I do bad things. This whole shit's been over my head for years. I can't take it anymore. No one would be able take it. Sometimes I feel like I can't even breathe, but I try to go on because you believe in me. Now I make one mistake and you freak out like you saw a monster. Damnit! I need it. I need to be weak. I need to be stupid," Dean jabbed his finger at his own chest, "Let me, for fuck's sake. 'cause otherwise... Otherwise, I don't know..." he stormed out of the room and slammed the door.


	8. Chapter 8

It was a mind map. Of course Charlie would present the outcome of her research in the form of a mind map and not bullet points like a decent human being. Sam was pretty close to deciphering it after a few minutes, though he couldn't guess what canaries and plungers were doing there.

"Can't you see? It all makes perfect sense?" Charlie twittered, sipping her gigantic butterbeer frappucino, "Miners used to use canaries as an early warning system against toxic fumes. Historians think that ancient Slavs used candles for the same purpose, but it makes no sense, because the partial pressure of carbon monoxide that causes total heme blockage in hemoglobin is much lower than partial pressure needed to extinguish a candle. But! The smotherer makes the candles go out. These people knew about it. See? I've always known these -ski's were pretty resourceful. I mean nobody cracks the Enigma and invents vodka, bagels and the delta wing without a few extra ganglia."

Sam had always thought that he was the nerd, but he barely kept pace with her. Perhaps it was so because a part of his mind was preoccupied with needless worrying about his brother. Rationally Sam knew that Dean's temper fits never lasted long and that eventually the man would return, wearing a fake smile and pretending that nothing ever happened. In a couple of days both of them would believe it to be true.

"Whoa, whoa," he asked absent-mindedly, "Wait. You mean that this thing was somehow dragged here from, like, Poland? How?"

"No. It wasn't. They're pretty ubiquitous. It's just that the death seems natural, so it usually passes unnoticed. But there are legends of soot spirits and fumes in every culture, even as remote as Japan."

"Japan?" Sam rose his eyebrow.

"Hello. Susuwatari. Rings a bell?"

Charlie rolled her eyes when didn't see a spark of recognition in Sam.

"Don't tell me you haven't watched _My Neighbor Totoro_!"

Winchester sighed resignedly.

"Okay. What about the plungers?"

The girl grinned; joy and excitement were beaming from her like from a lantern.

"That's the cool part. Gecko fingerprints, right? There used to be this totally wrong theory that their fingers act like plungers and that's why they stick to everything. In fact, they use the van der Waals force."

"Then why did you include plungers into your mind map?"

Charlie was unfazed by Sam's dubious frown.

"Because it's a mind map. See? It worked! That's how these things get into houses. They can climb any surface. All right. Now your turn. What about the... Vics?" she wiggled her eyebrows "Wow, it sounds so cool. Vics. Like CSI. This kicks ass!"

The hunter's scribbles were neat and drab compared to Charlie's network of colored lines and highlighted keywords, but Sam was happy with them. The important message popped out, obvious and disappointing. The last column intended to include a summary was empty.

"Vics have nothing in common, huh?" Charlie said in a deep, masculine voice with a smug smirk. Sam was sure that if she had sunglasses at hand, she'd put them on.

"Nothing," he agreed, "It doesn't retaliate, it doesn't punish them. My only guess is that it feeds on random people reckless enough to get caught. The only thing that puzzles me is that they all died in the hospital, a good couple of minutes after the attack."

"Isn't it obvious?" the girl gave Sam a high-toned look, "Dead man's blood? It's poison for vampires, right?"

Winchester was dumbfounded.

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm Charlie frickin' Bradbury. I guess feeding on a dead man would kill this soot thingy. Now, how do we kill them?"

The hunter threw an oblong bundle onto the table; the metallic clink made Charlie's eyes open wide in wonder.

"Is it...? How did you get them?" she asked, bobbing in her chair in excitement.

"Spoils of war," Sam shrugged sadly; Charlie didn't have to know how much sadness and guilt weighed each of the daggers down. Perhaps now that they could use them for a good cause, they would finally feel lighter and warmer to the hand, "Go ahead. One is yours."

The girl danced a dance of euphoria at the sight of three angel blades glistening in the hard, summer sun, then threw her arms around Sam's waist in a childish, sincere hug.

"Thank you! You're the best!"

She must have felt the man's gloom, becuase he sprung back with an apologetic wince.

"Sorry," she said tensely, "I shouldn't jump for joy when you're like... Mourning."

"I'm not mourning," Sam opposed, but he welcome the change in her attitude, "Dean's gonna be all right. Cas too. They always bounce back somehow," he added in a low voice, crossing his arms.

The next second he heard the sound of dial-up modem coming from Charlie's pocket. She checked the text message and pursed her lips.

"Speak of the devil," she announced with a sigh, "He'll be here in five. Says he wants to tell you everything."

xXx

"Yeah... So about last night..."

Dean muttered from the safe place he'd found for himself, turning the same blue plastic bottle of water he'd spurned in the morning in his hands. It was half-empty now that he'd taken a number of small sips as if he hoped they would help him open up somehow. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed in Sam's room, with Sam and Charlie sitting cross-legged vis a vis.

"What about it?" Sam goaded him when he saw no signs of moving forward.

"About getting smashed, drinking with Cas, hitting on dudes..." Dean shrugged. He fixed his gaze on the bottle and started to scratch the label nervously.

"So what happened?"

"In Dublin... It was a long night. First we went to this pub and everything was so normal. We did some stupid things... We fooled around, joked that it was our honeymoon," Dean slowly peeled a long strip of paper off the bottle. His hand was shaking slightly when he rubbed it between his fingers to form a hard, battered marble.

" 'Cause, you know, technically it was. Anyway... We boozed like crazy watching a game. Shelbourne won two to zero, everyone was raising the roof, bear hugging, they were patting each other's shoulders, chest bumping, crying and... I don't know. I started to hug Cas and it was it. Something... I don't know. Later, we switched to another place, and... I couldn't stop," Dean stammered and finally trailed off.

"They went to the first base, and there's usually a slippery slope after that, I mean, if you're not a prude." Charlie explained upon noticing that Dean was jammed for good.

"Yeah," he snickered nervously, "He sucked at it, but it all felt so... dunno. Natural. Good. Like we were a friggin family. Like... Like I've always imagined normal people feel on Christmas."

Sam's heart was caught in his chest. He'd never seen so much yearning and sorrow in his big brother. The more he tried to brush it off like another chick-flick moment he hated, the better Sam understood how difficult it all was for Dean.

"So they went looking for a place to stay..." the red-haired girl continued. Sam was so put out that he didn't even spare a thought on why Charlie had known everything earlier.

"Uhm. Like idiots. Cas could have zapped us anywhere, but we went with a sleazy hotel. Like a sugar daddy with his _niece,"_ Dean snarled, then zeroed the water.

"And he freaked out. Told Cas... Well, basically, he told him to," Charlie swallowed loudly before she voiced what she had to say, "fuck off."

Sam run his hands down his face. He still had an impression that it wasn't even half of the story.

"So, wait. Cas said you had some beef with these soccer guys, right?"

The soft plastic of the empty bottle crackled under Dean's fingers. He nodded pensively, rising his brows in bitter appreciation and breathed:

"Sucker ain't a natural born liar, but he can lie like a pro when he knows he has to."

"Dude, your mug was remodeled. Who jumped you?"

"Hools. But it was..." Charlie began.

"It was later," Dean cut her off "After I left the hotel I bumped into some hools who'd seen us earlier or even followed us. They managed to sock me once before Cas caught up and went totally Bruce Lee on them, but it's about what they said."

"They used a lot of three and four letter..." Charlie clammed up, cued by Sam's glare.

It was easy to guess what these words had been, but somehow Sam couldn't imagine Castiel bothered by such a wrangle.

"That's why Cas has been so downbeat?" he asked warily.

Dean slowly crushed the bottle into an uneven, blue ball.

"Yeah. I mean, man, it's that they were right. So I said a few nasty things, told him to take off and found a seedy gin mill to get black out smashed. I guess he found me when I was puking my guts out and flew me to Bobby's."

The younger hunter was at a loss for words. For a long while he looked at his brother pensively, trying to guess what he could feel, but his thoughts were completely blank. He didn't understand. He wasn't sure he could ever understand.

"And what about yesterday?" he asked when nothing else came to his mind.

"Yesterday... When I forgot about people and everything, when it was just me and him I was all for it and it was all so normal, but later... Not so much," he replied flatly, staring into indefinite distance, "So, you know... But I didn't go off on him," he protested, rising his upper lip, "I just said that it should never happen again...and that he should... you know," he repeated, at a loss for words.

"But why? Dean, honestly, I was surprised by how cool you were with this whole gay club thing. You took it on the chin, and then what? Another homo panic moment? Why? I mean, I'd understand if there were some drag queens there, but these guys seemed so normal. You liked the place."

"I did," For the first time since he came back Dean looked directly at his brother; his gaze was dark and pained, "And I liked that I could be close with Cas, so when he went back I decided to try. Damn, _decided_ is not the right word... Anway, when I sobered up, it hit me," he cast his eyes down again.

"What hit you?" Sam asked dourly.

"That I liked it. I liked everything. The place. These people. Being with Cas. I'm sorry, Charlie, but that's how I feel," he looked at his friend and opened his arms, helpless and guilt-ridden, "I always thought I was normal, but if they seem normal too... If they like the same things, look the same, drink the same, how do I know I'm... You know. Not one of them?"

Charlie rolled her eyes.

"Wow. Just wow," Sam waved his hands above his head in consternation. He darted at the girl, but saw no will to support him. She seemed jaded and sad, "You're speaking like an exemplary homophobe. Dude, there is no such thing as us and them. You are you."

Dean ducked his head between his shoulders, turning the ball of plastic in his hands.

"Yeah, but... These dudes called me a fag and I couldn't even deny it."

Sam was inarticulate for a moment. His compassion was slowly giving in to exasperation. He decided it was high time to show Dean a different perspective.

"So how are you gonna make it up to Cas?" he asked, having stood up and walked towards the window. Dean shrugged.

"I'm not. It was high time for him to go deal with his duties upstairs anyway. He's tough. He'll get over it."

"And you?" Charlie shifted closer to her friend with a ruthful, sad smile on her face.

Sam wasn't sure if he really saw this slight, tentative shake of Dean's head or it was only his imagination.

"You know what?" The older hunter tapped his thighs, "We're not getting anywhere. Let's go gank this gecko-whatever."

* * *

 **Whew. That was a big update.**

 **Thank you tmk13 and hoellenwauwau for your reviews. As to scenes in the club - I do realize it could have been much funnier. I just didn't want Dean to freak out too much and to be honest I had some ideas that I forgot before I had an opportunity to write them down, so, in other words, I screwed up. As to Dean's general attitutde - I hope this mess in his head seems realistic to you and that I managed to show how 'my' Dean feels about this situation.**


	9. Chapter 9

_"Cas... Are you there? I get it if you don't wanna show up, but just listen to me, okay?_

 _I know Dean has been an jerk to you lately, but I also know you're not a dick. I mean... You're more than a not-dick. Uhm... I'm just saying that I'm 99% sure you won't let him get hurt even after what he did to you, but I'm praying just in case. So that you know. And yes. He told me. He is sorry. He really is, he's just not ready to admit it yet. I know it's embarrassing, but... Never mind._

 _What I mean is that we're not sure if our strategy will work. We're gonna use angel blades, but we'd appreciate a real angel if things go haywire. I hope these knives of yours will work, 'cause otherwise the only way to kill the bastard is a dying man's last breath, and that's, you know, not something you carry around in your pocket._

 _So... I'll pray when we're there so that you know the address. You can home in on Charlie as well. Sorry for bothering you. I hope we won't need you, but still._

 _And don't get me wrong. I hope you'll pop in soon, you know, for a chat. I'll try to soften Dean up if you want. You could just... Let me know. If you need something. A text would be just fine. You still got that phone, right?_

 _I don't know how to wind it up. Usually we stopped praying when you arrived. Is amen acceptable?_

 _Please. Just watch over him. He's not that bad. He cares for you. It's just that he's a thickheaded royal pain sometimes._

 _Amen_

 _Well, most of the time._

 _Amen_

 _But he's not a bad person. You know it. Sometimes I think you know him better than I do._

 _Definitely amen this time,_

 _I guess."_

xXx

Summoning the smotherer in a basement of an abandoned house was a terrible idea. The Winchesters thought that it would be easy to corner the creature in a closed room, but they hadn't taken one thing into consideration. The concept of 'closed' did not apply to someone who could climb walls and ceilings.

Smotherer was disoriented for a second after he appeared - the pull of a spell was supposedly something new to it - but before Sam or Dean could jump it, the creature kicked itself off the ground with an angry hiss and crawled across the concrete ceiling with the speed and agility of a lizard, leaving a trail of black handprints. Dean broke into run, hoping to overtake it before it reached a heavy, metal trapdoor and escaped. Another thing he had not expected was that the creature wouldn't push him away of fight him, but grab him and haul him out of the basement, closing the trapdoor and toppling a large closet over it to lock Sam and Charlie inside.

"What do you want?" the creature whispered, breathing heavily, having thrown Dean on the floor. There was a dreamy, hypnotizing melody in its soft voice, like the sound of wind chimes.

"Oh hell, you know damn well what I want," Dean scrambled to his knees. The creature darted across the hall, but before it reached the hunter, there was a whoosh and the smotherer was pushed back in a violent wrestle by Castiel. Next second the creature snaked out from his clutch, leaving the angel bent double in pain. It flung Castiel around, then pressed a hand to his chest, pinning him to a wall.

"I know what you are..." the monster hissed with the same whistling, alluring undertone. Dean rushed towards these two, but before he could do anything, he was blinded by a blaze of white light accompanied by pain erupting in his head. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. The next thing he knew was being pulled up a pair of cold, coarse hands. He stared into the pitch-black eyes of the smotherer, unable to move or protest, dreamily fascinated by their matte, faceted structure. Soft, warm, enfeebling languor was seeping into his veins, making his eyelids heavier every second. It was good and safe, like falling asleep on a summer afternoon. After a few seconds his head lolled limply and he felt nothing more.

xXx

The grass was warm and soft underneath his cheek. Dean could feel soft sun rays hitting his skin. The hum of insects bustling among flowers and ears of grass was strangely soothing. For a moment he was mildly surprised by how good he felt - an alarming thought fluttered in his mind, but soon it faded, overwhelmed by a feeling of warmth and safety.

Dean turned over to lay on his back, then slowly lifted his eyelids. All he saw was endless blue, clear and bright. A few fuzzy clouds chased one another on the sky. Mild wind swayed the grass above his head, but it didn't reach him. There was no fear, no pain, no guilt. Closing his eyes again, he sighed and thought that he could spend the rest of his life like this.

Suddenly, he felt a tug or a poke of someone's determined will in his mind. He tried to shake it off, but it didn't give in. Finally, Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Dean," a husky, ragged voice called out. At first the man could not locate the source, but he finally remembered. The angel was right where he always appeared - behind Dean's back, shifted slightly to one side. The man scrambled to his feet and turned around. Sitting in front Cas felt awkward.

"What are you doing here?" he challenged, dusting the grass off his jeans.

"Dean. I need you to listen to me," Castiel was visibly agitated, "we don't have much time."

Winchester did not seem to notice the Seraph's urging tone. He took a small step back. A moment earlier he had been at peace, but now the sight of Castiel's sorrow and fear made all the memories rush back, filling him with a muddle of guilt and disgust.

"Why are you here? Is this some kind of your mind tricks?" he took a quick look around, while Castiel was staring at him intently and solemnly.

"Dean, you are dying."

The man took another step back.

"What?"

"The smotherer overpowered me... It didn't kill me, but it did weaken me and rendered my vessel temporarily useless. Now he is feeding on you. Sam and Charlie are locked away, so they won't be able to reach you in time. I have an idea how to rescue you, but it will require your trust."

It wasn't until Dean noticed fear and hesitation on Cas's face that the full awareness of what was happening reached him. He felt an ice-cold pit form in his stomach.

"Man, I don't like it."

"I don't like it either, but I cannot conceive any other way right now. Dean, listen to me carefully. I will help you regain consciousness. Your body will be weakened, but you have to take your gun and kill yourself. If I act quick, I will be able to resurrect you," having noticed Dean's dubious frown, he added hastily, "I will be completely honest with you, I am not certain if I can do it, but given the situation it is our only chance. In a few minutes you will die anyway and I won't be able to help you."

Dean blenched and stumbled; he would have fallen, but Castiel was by his side in no time to support him.

"Are you nuts?" Winchester snapped, tossing Cas's hands off himself.

"Please. Trust me. I want to help you."

"Help me? By telling me to blow my brains out? Cas, if this is your fucked up payback for what I did..."

Dean stopped short. For the first time in his life he saw the Seraph really stunned. The shock on his face slowly cracked, melted into an expression of pain and helplessness.

"How can you..." he was unable to finish; the voice was caught in his throat.

"All right. All right." The hunter made a stiff, theatrical calming gesture with open hands, disturbingly aware of how bad and dishonest it looked, "Sorry. Don't fall apart here. It's just that..." Dean shook his head, "if someone screwed me over like this, I'd be dead set on offing the bastard."

Castiel's jaws twitched in tension; he struggled to regain his composedness.

"Even if it was me?" he asked, tilting his head and furrowing his brow. There was still this throaty, tearful undertone in his voice, but fear and determination gave him strength to speak louder, more pressingly.

The man had no answer for that. He gaped at the Seraph, tense and frightened, ready to flee at any sign of hazard. The vision of pressing a cold barrel against his own temple and pulling the trigger made him jolt in a reflex of panic.

"Dean, what you did...It did hurt me, but believe me, if I bore a grudge against you, you would recognize my wrath without a doubt," Castiel bowed slightly, sounding even more solemn than usually. Somewhere behind this ache and pleading Dean saw a glimpse of an Angel of the Lord he had met years earlier. Winchester remembered the tempest that heralded his arrival, his indifference to any attempt of attack - physical or verbal - and the detached curiosity wit which Castiel observed him during their first weeks together. Like an owner watching a puppy struggle to break free from its playpen - lenient and amused, but always alert, ready to throw it back in should it ever come too close to success.

Winchester took a step back, unknowingly shaking his head. The spark of unearthly might he saw in Castiel did not help him trust the Seraph. On the contraty. Even if this display was unplanned and resulted only from Castiel's incomprehension of human reactions, it only reminded Dean that he would never fully understand that creature that stood before him.

"Man, I mean... You're an angel," he rasped "You're different and don't know diddy squat what's going on in your melon. It's... It's freaking me out."

The angel breathed a small, sharp huff. His shoulders relaxed - Dean hadn't noticed they were so tense - and he somehow softened, unruffled, gave in like an animal allowing itself to be tamed.

"Tell me," he began again, opening his arms slightly "Have you forgiven me for not telling you about Lilith in time?"

"What?" Dean cocked his head, still in a daze

"It's a simple question. Have you forgiven me that I succumbed to the torture in Heaven and failed to tell you that Lilith was the final seal?"

Winchester wished the angel hadn't mention torture. He wished he couldn't relate. He wished he knew nothing that would let him imagine what other angels did to Castiel to break his loyalty for Dean. All the rage, frustration and guilt flared up in his chest again, leaving a throbbing, dull ache after he managed to bulldoze all these pictures out of his consciousness.

"Buddy, of course I have."

"Then you know how I feel," Cas took a small step towards his friend; the expression on his face was unfathomable, "Dean, I would never knowingly hurt you. I love you. I thought you knew."

They way Cas said it - plain, relaxed, open, like it was a most natural thing to say - made Dean's mind stutter. For a long while he didn't realize there was an unspoken question in what Castiel had said.

"Damnit. Fuck. Yes. No." he babbled in response, "I just don't get it. You say this word and there's a blank page in my mind. I don't understand."

"I don't understand your ways either, but I know for certain that you would never deliberately cause me pain or harm."

"But I did," Dean was sure he failed to voice this confession, that he barely moved his lips, but the angel understood anyway.

"Out of weakness, not out of wickedness. Dean, I forgive you. Even if you don't understand, you will have to take my word for it."

These words filled Dean with inexplicable shame. He started to draw back again, shrinking away from the compassion and sorrow spilling from Cas's eyes. The sky on the horizon started to darken; Winchester noticed that all colors had gradually faded to an eerie mixture of gray and gold. It was getting colder every second until Dean realized his breath materialized in a form of small, white puffs.

The angel took a look around, visibly alarmed. He took another step towards Dean, less hesitant this time, and urged:

"Just trust me. Let me help you one last time and you will never have to lay eyes on me again."

"Wh...what? No, Cas, that's not..."

"Dean!" The Seraph's voice was suddenly overwhelming, loud and clear, echoing in nonexistent mountains "Please," he added softer.

Winchester took a deep breath and tensed his shoulders in preparation for the fight.

"Ok, let's do it."


	10. Chapter 10

Reality shattered into pieces. In one moment he was standing on a dark, unnaturally gray meadow, staggering at the impact of Cas's hand on his forehead. Next moment he was in a stuffy, dark, abandoned house, staring into pitch black, insectile eyes embedded in a pale face that was hovering just inches away from his. His whole body ached, his limbs felt weighed down like they were made of solidifying concrete and his muscles reacted with a disconcerting delay, but he felt alive again - he heard the throb of his own pulse and the warmth if his own breath. The dreamy void started to beckon him, so before it engulfed him again, he drew the 1911 Colt he had tucked in his jeans, put it to his temple and fired.

He felt dizzy; his legs buckled from beneath him. He felt even more giddy when he saw his body slide down and slump onto the ground right where he was still standing, staring in horror at the bloody mass of exit wound on his head - now distant and foreign. He was so engrossed that he barely registered the smotherer choke and hiss, turning into a mass of fine, black powder with a mad shriek and sizzle, then fall apart, blown away by the impact of something huge rushing into the room.

Dean instinctively closed his eyes when he felt the pressing, burning presence, but soon he realized that neither the blazing light, nor the wild roar hurt his senses. He slowly opened his eyes to see Castiel - true Castiel - gently skim his dead body, cradle it in his being, entwine it in a fine net of radiant fibers like a cocoon until he let it surface again, then rested it gently on the floor: intact, without even a scratch.

Castiel's true form was lightning and blizzard, and fire. A stormy ocean of endless light; ripples upon ripples coiling and diverging into infinity like a flurry of crystalline snowflakes, restlessly transforming into one another, shimmering with all the shades of white no living man could ever see, transcending perception and human understanding, giving Dean vertigo as he stared up a soaring tower and down an abyss at the same time; at something infinitely distant and yet so close; hypnotized by the restive billowing and scintillation. Castiel was not present. He was happening.

His voice was deep and powerful, like a rumble of a distant thunder. Dean felt it rather than heard it, gliding along his bones, boring into him, filling him with tremor and the sensation of falling.

"Step away from him!" reverberated in the vast space of in-between.

It wasn't until that roar faded out that Dean registered a touch of a cool, soft hand on his shoulder. He turned around, following a pale, a bit chubby arm with his gaze until he met the familiar, aquiline face: plump lips, a pronounced, but cutely shaped chin, brown eyes, beautifully arched dark eyebrows. Mercy and calm embodied, if Dean didn't know who she really was.

"Tessa..."

Winchester blinked in bafflement. The moment he opened his eyes again, Cas was there in his ordinary, disheveled visage of a slightly insane tax accountant, tense and ready to tear into combat if the reaper moved any closer. The angel blade slid from his sleeve and dropped to his hand, but he froze; his eyes widened for an instant. Dean followed his gaze. The sight made his blood run cold. He was sure he would be able to charm his way out of Tessa's clutch, but Death... Death was another kettle of fish.

He was equally relieved and piqued when the most fearsome of the Horsemen of Apocalypse ignored him and rested his gaze on Cas, whose breeding made him bow slightly in reverence. Nonetheless, the Seraph did not cast his eyes down; he watched Death intently as he approached him and Dean, pursing his narrow lips in disapproval tainted with amusement.

"Castiel, you poor Thursday's child..." he began, clucking his tongue, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Death's look shifted to Dean; the Horseman rose his eyebrows as he fumbled in the pocket of his black woolen coat to fish out a small packet of beef jerky.

"Dean Winchester. Of course. It would be irrational to assume that there could be any other reason bringing the fallen one to the brink of demise," he said, then popped one small piece of the snack into his mouth to chew it religiously.

Castiel shifted to shield his friend from Death with his own body; as pointless as it was, this gesture made Dean's heart lurch in worry eased by gratitude.

"Well, misters, I believe this is my lucky day," the Horseman lifted his cane; the tip hovered inches from Cas's chest, but Death was looking straight into Dean's eyes, "You have been slipping through my fingers for yeas. As insignificant as you are, you were annoying. Today, though, I cannot imagine what kind of insane stunt you would have to pull to escape my hold," he jeered, pacing leisurely across the room. At the flick of his wrist the veil between the reality and the in-between thickened. Dean found himself drifting in time and space, still anchored to the dark, stuffy room, but separated from it by an impenetrable,yet impalpable wall of impossibility. He couldn't hear the thump when Sam finally managed to crack the trapdoor open to let Charlie out or the screech of wood against wood when she the moved the closet away to let Sam out. He didn't hear their screams when they rushed to his body, shocked at the sight of blood sprayed on the dusty floor and a cracked wall. He didn't hear Charlie's gasp or Sam's howl when they finally realized he was dead.

"OK," Dean clapped his hands "Skeletor, I'm thrilled that you found time to drop by, but now will you shove my ass back into this meat?" The thought of all the taunts and jokes about this girly outburst of emotions he'd harass his brother with after he'd get back to life barely sufficed to keep him from breaking down at the sight of Sam's face contorted in pain, the tears filling his eyes or the mad, childish despair with which he clung to Dean's dead body, with fistfuls of Dean's clothes clutched so tight that his knuckles went white as if the force of the embrace could do anything to bring Dean back.

"I honestly cannot imagine what gave you an impression that I will be willing to let you go, human," Death answered flatly, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his black velvet lapel. His laughter was low and dry, like grinding gears of an old, broken clock.

"Name your price," Castiel ground out decidedly.

Death eyed him, mildly amused, gnawing at another bit of dried meat. Dean budged, trying to yank himself from Tessa's grip, but the long, slender fingers only tightened around his arms. The expression of a politely masked lack of interest on her face did not change.

"A price? I am afraid you have nothing to offer unless there is something I am not aware of," Death chewed slowly; Winchester hadn't imagined that it was even possible to devour beef jerky in such a gentle, refined way, unless... He could have sworn that instead of the tang of meat he smelled cherries and toffee.

"How about myself? I have escaped you twice. You cannot convince me that it was not annoying," the Seraph insisted.

"Cas, are you fuckin nuts? What are you..." Castiel's words made Dean forget everything else and his blood boil. With one mad lurch he finally struggled free; he was milliseconds away from pushing Castiel aside and pouncing upon Death, but in the last possible moment Tessa's vice-like grip held him in place; her ice-cold fingers curling swiftly around his elbows. The moment she touched him, the man found that no sound was coming from his lips, though he kept screaming until his throat hurt.

"Two and a half times, to be precise. I count the 'half' as my personal failure. Taking merely your grace, but not your life due to this unfortunately placed angel banishing sigil that you have been kind enough to devise to grant your own destruction... I must admit that it was disappointing. Now, let me see. Every time I take one Winchester as my rightful trophy, the other interferes. Now, if I decide to keep Dean, I will have to deal with Sam's tenacity. If I try to keep you, I will have to deal with your father's aberrant whimsies. Sam and God are both infinitely less powerful than I. The question is - which will be more persistent?"

"I presume my Father will have no intention to resurrect me this time. The only reason I had to remain here..." his voice was getting hoarser and weaker with every word "is no longer valid. I used to protect the Righteous Man, but now I cause him nothing but harm."

Dean stopped scuffling with Tessa. The world around him came to a standstill.

"Are you willing to do this for him?" Death gave the hunter a disdainful once-over, then gave Castiel curious look, "Even if he does not feel the same way about you?"

Cas's widened eyes darted to his friend, then to the Horseman again. For the moment their looks met, Dean could see puzzlement in the angel.

"Why would it matter?" he frowned slightly, most honestly not getting Death's point. The father of reapers laughed again; this time the sound was less grating, more ringing.

"Oh... My sweet summer child. You never cease to amaze me."

"Let him go. He needs to go back to his brother," the Seraph took a step forward. Death bent his upper torso back, opening his arms, then pointed at Castiel while sending Dean a sour, yet somewhat playful look.

"Do you see this, you mutton head?" he jested.

Winchester coughed.

"What?" this time he was able to hear his own voice, raspy due to strain and shock.

"Did I say mutton head? Well, crap..." Death threw his head back in nervous laughter. Winchester and the angel both stared at his tailored felt coat and tuxedo turning into a pair of well-worn jeans, a maroon shirt and a brown denim jacket. His body grew fuller, his skin getting less wrinkled and more tanned. After no more than two seconds they were looking at the well-known figure - a vertically challenged, inconspicuous guy with a lopsided nose, a cheesy combover and powerful, soul-piercing, terrifying amber eyes.

"Gabriel?"

The archangel snorted.

"No, Pocahontas. Of course I'm Gabriel."

"How did you survive Luficer?" Dean finally managed to choke through a sudden upsurge of anger and grudge. The archangel put an index finger to his lips and frowned in an exaggerated pantomime.

"Let me think. It took one mini-me to fool two Winchesters. How many mini-mes did it take to fool one Lucifer?"

The hunter shot a quick glance at Tessa, hoping that she would be more eager to explain. Instead of the reaper, he saw a blonde, well-endowed Playboy bunny with a grin so dumb that he wondered why she wasn't drooling.

"Then why didn't you... People died because of you, brother!"

"Because I had to produce an Aunt Sally that was a carbon copy of my glorious self and that stab offered me by our favorite self-centered douche kicked me out of timespace pretty much until now. I still have this heartburn every time I eat something stodgy," Gabriel scowled theatrically at Winchester, then looked at Castiel like a disappointed teacher, "You would know all of it if you cared to explore your power instead of killing yourself over and over for this half-brained hunk. Now," he herded Dean towards a slit in the veil that was already starting to grow - thrumming ominously and radiating white heat, "now that we agreed that the little angel is staying with me, let's _shove your ass back into that meat_ before Sam whines his lungs out. I mean I know this boy has a weak spot for you, but come on, this is embarrassing. He totally slobbered all over your face, see? Let's go before he drowns in a puddle of his own snot."

The next thing Dean knew was blazing pain in his lungs as he was taking a deep, hungry breath.

xXx

Sam felt like he was reduced to a sharp pain, curling and gnawing at him that burst in his chest the moment he realized what had happened. Charlie knelt next to him, tugging at Dean's hand, squealing and begging, then ran out of the house to call an ambulance, but he knew. Sam had seen to many people die not to recognize the one in front of him. He had seen enough unnatural deaths to accept this one, despite a lack of wound. He just cradled Dean's body in his arms, rocking it delicately and crying with his chin pressed to Dean's forehead. He wasn't able to force a single word through his throat and even if he could, his mind was filled with unspeakable pain and denial. All he could think of was No, this isn't happening, let this not be happening.

The moment Dean budged with a feeble moan and gasped for air, Sam clung to him even harder, letting out a single, strangled whimper. His relief soon melted into fear when he saw madness in Dean's eyes as he was looking around frantically, searching for something he obviously did not see. Overcome with panic he pushed his little brother away, then noticed his shocked and pained expression. He pulled Sam into a quick, firm, brotherly hug, but then slowly, yet decidedly freed himself from this bear-like embrace.

"Where's Cas?" he breathed, darting around the hall like a terrified animal. Sam put a calming hand on Dean's chest that was heaving in quick, ragged breath.

"Easy, man. I don't know. Calm down. You were dead a moment ago."

"Damnit, you sucker!" Dean yelled in no particular direction, "Drag your ass right here right now or next time I see you I'll fry it extra crispy!"

The younger hunter sat on his heels, eyeing his brother with concern.

"What did Cas do to you?" he asked warily. Dean winced at this suggestion.

"Cas? Wh...what? No! Gabe. He's back," he lifted his gaze from his brother, stood up and gestured with his head, urging Sam to come along, "Come on, Sammy. We need all the holy oil there is in the world. We're gonna go Colonel Sanders on this sonofabitch."

"Are you saying that Gabriel is alive?" Sam croaked, more flabbergasted every second. The older hunter did not seem to mind.

"Yeah. Dickhead's gonna regret he ever was, and I'm gonna get Cas back! You hear me, you wussy?" he turned to the ceiling, yelling even harder, "Whine all you want. I'm gonna get you back!"

* * *

 **This is where I'm gonna wind up this part. I am planning one more, in which Dean will have to pass a certain test devised by Gabriel - a plan including an alternate reality and Dean coping with his fear of chick-flick moments.**

 **I do realize that this part may have been boring, but I hope you'll stay with me and see for yourselves if the third story is more entertaining. Don't forget to leave me a comment!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi there,**

 **If you'd like to know what happens next, I'm starting to post part 3 of this mini-series. You can find it here:**

 **s/11776284/1/There-will-be-love**

 **Yes, the story's title is taken from a song by Jefferson Starships... and introducing Jefferson Starships is the least cruel of all the things I intend to do to Dean, but hey, he had it coming, right?**

 **Thank you all for reading, faving and reviewing. It makes my day!**

* * *

 **P.S. Some of you let me know that the link doesn't work. I don't know what's wrong because the story is available (traffic stats show it). You can just click on my profile and find it on the list - I've written only a few stories so you'll have no problem finding it. The title is "There Will Be Love".**


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